


A Firefly Without a Spark

by DarkPilot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU In Which Everything Goes Horribly Wrong, Angst, Desert, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Kerberos Mission, References to Depression, References to The Little Prince, Sad, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, adashi, broganes, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkPilot/pseuds/DarkPilot
Summary: If everything had gone right, he would have died first. How cruel to outlive someone younger than yourself, especially when you were sick and dying and he wasn't. Especially when the world had laid claim to your life long before it realized he had one. He did the math in his head and across his fingers. His brother hadn't even turned eighteen. His brother wasn't even an adult.





	A Firefly Without a Spark

Did you know that fireflies can keep glowing even after they're dead? Imagine another firefly seeing a dead firefly's glow and falling in love with its light and following the flashes to a lonely rock in the middle of nowhere. Imagine that firefly just on the edge of the end of its short life finally finding the thing it needed to keep itself going and realizing too late that it was just a trick. Imagine the living firefly flying over and crawling next to the dead, glowing lightning bug anyway. Imagine the living one glowing back, answering the dead one's call. Imagine them staying together the whole night like that, two fireflies that didn't find each other soon enough to keep each other alive in their children. Imagine the living firefly's glow finally going out, and imagine the two fireflies curled up together, both dead on their rock by morning.

He should have seen it coming. Everyone said it wasn't his fault, that no one could have predicted it, but everyone was  _ wrong _ . It was his job to look out for his brother. He may as well have killed his brother himself.

He hadn't been there. The timing was just so cruel, knowing that he'd just come home when he realized his brother was gone. Turned his knife on himself. 

And where had he been? In space, on a mission he shouldn't have gone on.

How was it not his fault?

He met his partner again, and they forgave each other for his brother's death.  _ Because _ of his brother's death. His partner had scattered his brother's ashes all by himself, in the middle of nowhere in the desert. His brother's favorite place. 

_ How long ago? _ he had asked.

_ A couple months after we were told you weren't coming home, _ his partner had replied. 

His brother had been dead for eleven months and twenty-four days when he finally returned. His memory might have been broken, but he would never have forgotten that kid. Brothers not by blood, but by trust.

_ I wish you'd been my real brother _ , the kid had said before the launch. 

_ Family doesn't start or end in blood,  _ he'd replied.  _ Trust me, I know. And you've never  _ not _ been my little brother. I love you, kiddo. _

His brother had laughed at that.  _ Don't make it too weird, you geezer. _

But when his brother had hugged him right before he had to go, he'd whispered a tiny, soft  _ I love you, too, Shiro. _

He should have said it more often. But given where they were and the timing of their friendship, some things were just harder to say. It shouldn't have mattered. There was so much else that he hadn't let matter, but for some Goddamned reason, he didn't let his brother know he was loved. Not as much as he could have.

His partner walked him out to the desert as soon as the higher-ups in uniform deemed him fit to leave. It was a long walk, and a hard one, and by the end of it, they were both sweating and panting and hanging on to each other to keep going. The longer he walked, the harder the walking became. He wasn't sure if it was because of how far he had come or how far he had left to go or what he knew was waiting for him at the end of the walk.

He hadn't brought water, hadn't remembered that he'd be needing it, but his partner brought enough for the two of them. He had almost forgotten what water tasted like, forgotten what dehydration felt like, forgotten how hot the sun could get even as summer was crawling into autumn. 

His brother had loved it out here.

_ It's quiet, _ his brother had said.  _ I like that. My dad told me that if you just listen, you can hear the desert telling you something. _

_ What's it telling you?  _ he had asked in reply. 

His brother just pointed to the sinking scarlet sun in front of them.  _ Have you ever read  _ The Little Prince?

He had shaken his head, no.

His brother had smiled wryly.  _ It was one of my dad's favorite books. There's a little prince — he's an alien, I think, and he lives on a little asteroid. Apparently, he was really into sunsets, too, like us. His asteroid was so tiny, all he had to do was just walk a few steps and see another sunset. Imagine that — just walking a few steps and seeing the sun set all over again. _

_ Maybe I should go read that book. _

_ It's short, you'll finish it pretty fast.  _

_ Okay. _

Right now, it wasn't the sunsets that were making him crazy right now. It was the whole book, down to the sheep and the volcanoes and the roses and the fox and the businessman and the lamp-lighter and all the people the Little Prince had encountered on his way to and from Earth. And the Goddamned  _ snake. _ The aviator had asked the prince, warned him, begged him not to go near that snake, but —

_ He fell as gently as a tree falls. There was not even a sound. _

Not unexpectedly, he began to weep. Once he began, he couldn't seem to stop. Even the thought of trying to stop drove his tears to further madness, like a dam that had broken through and was letting everything on one side rush out to the other. Isn't it strange that the human eye succumbs to water pressure the same way anything else in this universe does? 

His partner held him.  _ We're almost there, I promise. Just a little farther. _

He wondered how his partner had come out here all this way, all on his own. His partner had suffered more loss, had survived more pain than he could possibly imagine. And yet —  _ and yet _ , there was some kind of quiet resilience about his partner that hadn't quite given up with the rest of him. He found that fascinating, wished he could share in some of that resilience right now. Perhaps his partner had been forced to create that resilience, forge it in loneliness and hammer it against the anvil of eleven months and twenty-four days. 

He wanted to say something, anything. All he could do was cry. And the sun lapped his tears right up.

_ Here. _ His partner didn't even need to point out the cairn before he saw it.

_ No. _ He hadn't even realized he'd spoken the word out loud before he came crashing down on his knees. His little brother, the shy and standoffish kid that he'd promised to look out for — reduced to a pile of rocks in the middle of nowhere. 

Well, not quite the middle of nowhere. 

Somehow, his partner had found the exact spot, their sunset spot, his brother's favorite spot, and built the memorial there. Had his brother shown his partner while he was gone?

He was crying his brother's name, screaming it over and over as if it would make any difference. He yelled in every language he knew how to, even if the words didn't make sense. Pain isn't restricted to one dictionary, since it carries so many different meanings.

His partner just held him, silently shaking along with him.  _ It's not your fault it's not your fault it's not your fault —  _

His brother's knife was standing in the sand in front of the cairn, wrapped in cloth strips like bandages. He had half a mind to take that knife and turn it on himself, but he wasn't brave enough. His partner saw his feeble motion, though, and held his hands as tight as he could.

_ Listen to me, Shiro, think about what he'd want, he wouldn't want you to hurt yourself or grieve too long because of what happened, he wouldn't want you to blame himself — _

_ How are we ever gonna know what he wants now? He didn't want me to go in the first place, but he was there at the launch anyway! _

His partner flinched at that, and he immediately regretted his words. How cruel could he be, throwing the reminder of their failure right back in his partner's face? But once the words were out, he couldn't stop them.

_ Both of you knew I shouldn't have gone, but he was the only one who told me to go and make it mean something. He was there, at the launch, and he told me he'd wait. He told me he'd wait, Adam, he told me he'd wait —  _

_ I never should have said what I said to you, _ his partner said fiercely.  _ You mean too much to me, and I never should have let you go. He was wiser than me in that regard.  _

_ I just can't believe he's really — that it really happened — _

_ I know. Trust me, I know. _

He was crying and screaming and beating himself with his fists so hard he almost couldn't breathe. His partner was trying to hold him back, but God  _ damn _ it — he went to space and came back with more strength than he'd ever had. Something had happened up there, he still wasn't quite sure what, but  _ something  _ had made him stronger. Strong enough to be unable to die when he wished so desperately it would just happen.

_ So what's the matter? Are you sick or something? _ He hadn't seen that accusatory glare in his brother's eyes before. 

He had hopped down from the stepladder he was on, faking nonchalance.  _ Hey, uh, I don't think I know what you — _

_ I overheard you and Commander Holt talking with Admiral Sanda.  _ His brother's eyes had lost some of their glare as his shoulders had sagged.  _ Tell me the truth. What's going on? _

He hadn't been able to dodge the question that time, and so he'd told his little brother what was going to happen in the next few years. He told him as much as he could, leaving out some of the worse details. And by the end of it, his little brother had hugged him and said,  _ If you need to go, you should go. Don't let anyone stop you, okay? _

_ I'm going, _ he had decided.  _ Come on, let's go for a ride.  _

How selfish could he have been? The first warning signs were right there, right in front of him, the day he confessed to his brother just how bad things had gotten. His brother had started acting different since then. Slight differences, but differences nonetheless. His brother had been quieter, more pensive, just like the desert he loved so much. That quietude must have destroyed him. Stand in the desert long enough and you'll find out — if the heat doesn't kill you, a snake will.

_ What happened?  _ he asked his partner.  _ Please — I-I need to know. _

_ Okay. _ His partner closed his eyes and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.  _ Okay. Where should I start? _

_ Anywhere. I just need to know what happened. _

His partner leaned back against the pile of stones, fingering a loose cloth strip from around the knife standing next to him.  _ This is gonna be tough, okay? For both of us, I mean. I mean — it's not like — this isn't the kind of thing that, you know, you can just talk about — you know what I mean? _

_ I'm sorry, _ he said, not sure whether he was saying it to his partner or his brother. For good measure, he said it again.  _ I'm sorry. _

After he'd reunited with his partner, the first person he'd asked for was his brother. There had been some glances and awkward looks around the room, each uniform nudging the other to say something before his partner had finally broken down and said,  _ Shiro, he's . . . he's not here anymore. _

_ What?  _

_ I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have found out like this — _

_ What? What are you talking about? _

_ He — he — _

_ What? What happened? _

There was silence. Not the kind of silence where nobody says anything, no, the kind of silence where everyone's trying to say something all at once and nothing gets heard. No one wanted to answer his question, but finally someone did. Finally, someone dropped the nuke. Finally, someone said the three words that had sent him back into a spiral of unconsciousness and nightmarish sleep.

_ He killed himself. _

His brother had killed himself.

He didn't know what those words meant until he knelt here with barely enough strength to keep looking. Some part of his mind counted all the stones he could see. Sixty-one.

His partner held his hands.  _ If anyone could have helped him, it should have been me. There's nothing I can say to tell you how sorry I am. _

_ I don't blame you, _ he said, over and over and over. Neither one of them seemed to believe him. Who would have? Blame was the only thing out here, nestling itself deep within both their hearts and refusing to let go. 

_ He stopped coming to class about a week after we heard, but he turned in all his work and logged his hours and everything. I thought he just needed some time, so I gave him a curfew pass. He didn't talk to me very much, though. I mean, he was never really that talkative, but it felt like something inside him just . . . broke.  _ His partner's breath was coming in short and fast gulps, like he was choking on his own words. He didn't know what to say or do to make his partner even the slightest bit more comfortable. It was like his own body refused to comply with whatever he told it. His partner continued,  _ The other kids weren't exactly kind to him. Some of them knew that you two were pretty close, and, well — I never knew how bad things got because he never told me, but I had to break up a fight one day. He said it was because the other kid was talking smack about you, but I felt like it couldn't just be that. Maybe I should have realized it then, but he said that he was tired of waiting when he knew you weren't coming back. He was tired of having to face everybody else. I thought he meant he just had a lot on his mind and was taking it out on the wrong people, but I guess not. _

The first thing he had gotten to know about his brother was that his brother was a fighter. And a damn good one at that, too. He'd told the uniforms that he would try to channel that fighting spirit elsewhere, so he'd taken his brother down to the gym, to an unused martial arts room. He knew a thing or two about fighting and figured it'd be good for both of them to let off some steam. Sparring had turned into racing somewhere along the way, he wasn't really sure where. And then racing had turned into talking. And they had both learned to turn each other's wounds into scars.

He'd kept a big part of himself hidden from his brother — after all, he wasn't the one that could wind up with the same people who had spat him out like rotten fruit if he made another mistake. He wasn't the one facing bullies and condescension nearly every day. He wasn't the one with something to prove and everything to lose. He definitely acted like it, though — the only difference was that he had  _ nothing  _ to lose. He would have died anyway, and he hadn't wanted his brother to know that the only reason for his achievement was the perpetual countdown hanging over his head.

He'd really wanted his brother to look up to him, to trust him. He'd been in his brother's spot before, in that awkward time before he had found his wings among the uniforms. Life on the ground was hardly better than miserable. Everyone seemed to know and no one seemed to care. He'd been there before. It was all he could do to help that kid fly. 

_ You can do this, _ he'd said.  _ I will never give up on you. But more importantly, you can't give up on yourself. _

_ You don't even know me, _ his then-not brother had said, spitting as much of a challenge as he could in his scathing words. 

Anyone else might have taken the hint. But that kid wasn't anyone else. And neither was he. So he said,  _ You're right. I don't. But sometimes, we could all use a hand.  _

The kid's face had lifted at that, and he had softened only slightly. Slightly, but still enough. The kid had taken his hand, and he'd smiled and said,  _ Come on, let's get you patched up. _

He buried one of his fists in his other hand now, wiping as much sand as he could from his skin. The sand refused to budge, though, and whatever he got off one hand would wind up sticking to the other hand. His partner offered a wan sort of half-smile that wasn't really much of a smile at all.  _ Sand's a bitch, isn't it? _

_ I bet you'd know all about that, _ he answered, and he meant that. Something his partner and his brother had in common was that they were both desert boys. Himself, on the other hand — a small beach town far north of here, where half the population was made of retirees, the other half made of tourists, and the few real residents squashed somewhere in between. 

_ Yeah, I do, _ his partner said back. His partner sighed.  _ I knew he wasn't getting better, but I didn't know he was getting worse. I keep telling myself I should have found him and talked to him, but I know he would have said even less if I actually did that. I dunno, I feel like there must have been something at least — you know what I'm saying? _

_ I think so.  _ Not for the last time, he ran his hands through his hair and said,  _ I shouldn't have gone on that mission. _

_ You did what you had to,  _ his partner replied for the last time. His partner drank from the canteen he'd brought.  _ I know it's not your fault, but you're the one who sent him right over the edge. _

_ Wait, what? _

His partner stood up.  _ He was getting worse ever since you left, but your death was what it took for him to finally lose it. And you weren't even dead. They found his body in front of your memorial. He wrote his note to you, did you know that? You can read it if you like, I've got it with me. He didn't write much, but you can read it if you want. I'm sorry, I just — I've had a lot on my mind, and this isn't easy, okay? _

_ I understand. I'm so sorry —  _

_ I've got to get going now, but you can find your way back, right? I'll cover for you, just take your time. _ His partner dug in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.  _ Here. Keep the canteen. You might need it. _

He didn't even ask his partner to stop as he walked away. He just kept that folded note tight to his chest and sat there in quietude. It still wasn't real. Reading his brother's note was the harshest reality check he'd ever gotten, more so than his final countdown. He'd keep it off as long as he could, but he knew that someday, he'd have to answer for his absence. 

Was that someday today?

He put a hand on the cairn.  _ Hey, kiddo, it's me.  _

He tried his best not to break down crying again, but, like every other time, he couldn't stop himself. Where was that strength that he had grown his year away from Earth? He imagined his brother standing behind him now, punching his shoulder and telling him to  _ quit crying, you old-timer _ , and only broke down further. 

_ I'm so sorry,  _ he said, over and over and over until the words hardly sounded like words anymore.  _ I'm so sorry I took so long.  _

It occurred to him quite suddenly that his brother wasn't even buried here — his partner had taken the ashes and put them in the care of the wind. The cairn didn't mark the spot where his brother had fallen, it only marked the spot where he would have stood and watched the sun set. It was a jarring, sobering thought. 

If everything had gone right, he would have died first. How cruel to outlive someone younger than yourself, especially when you were sick and dying and  _ he  _ wasn't. Especially when the world had laid claim to your life long before it realized  _ he  _ had one. He did the math in his head and across his fingers. His brother hadn't even turned eighteen. His brother wasn't even an adult. 

_ I thought about you, buddy, _ he said, and he meant it.  _ I'm not even sure where I really was, now that I think about it, but I was thinking of you every chance I got. I know I let you down, and all I wanted to do was get home and tell you I'm sorry. And you said you would wait for me, didn't you? You said that to me, one of the last things I ever heard you say. I can't believe this is happening, buddy.  _

The note was folded into quarters, and he added one more fold — stuffing the note into his pocket.  _ He said he was tired of waiting when he knew you weren't coming back. He said he was tired of having to face everybody else. _

_ I  _ was  _ coming back, buddy,  _ he said brokenly.  _ I just wish you could have known that. If I was here eleven months ago, I would have hugged you so tight and never let you go. I'm so sorry I took so long. I don't know what else to say. But I — I  _ was _ coming back. You were the only family I had when I left, buddy. I wouldn't have left you, not like that.  _

Silence.

_ What did they say to you that hurt you so bad? What did they do, buddy? Or was it just me? Please, just tell me if it was. I can't stay here not knowing. I can't imagine how angry with me you must be, that I'm not there with you. You didn't go for nothing, okay? I just — I just — _

Silence.

_ The universe is fucking terrible, isn't it? I turn up alive to find out that you're not, and you — you — you go where you think I went just to find out I'm not there.  I can't get that out of my head, buddy. How did this happen? _

Silence.

_ It's almost sunset. I wish you could see it. Maybe you can see it, where you're at.  _

Silence.

_ Maybe wherever you're at, all you need to do is just walk a few steps to watch the sun set all over again. _

Quiet.

_ I love you, you know. Going to Kerberos was a terrible way of telling you that, but I do.  _

Quiet.

_ I wish you'd been my blood brother all along, too. Maybe then I could have done something. _

Quiet.

He watched the sun sink alone, leaning against the cairn where his brother might have sat next to him. The stars blinked awake as the last red sparks died in the indigo sky. He counted them, traced their patterns. He'd almost forgotten how, but there were just some things you can never forget. And when a name felt missing from his head, he could hear his brother say it for him. And then he'd repeat it. And then his brother would laugh and say,  _ see, you haven't forgotten, you old-timer. _

The stars were twinkling. Hadn't the Little Prince said something about living and laughing in the stars? He couldn't remember. Some of the stars faded in and out of view, blinking in their own sort of Morse code. It took him a while to realize that those weren't stars at all — they were  _ fireflies. _

_ Yeah, they come out every once in a while, _ his brother had laughed the first time he had seen the tiny creatures.  _ What, you've never seen fireflies before? _

_ They never came up to where I lived, _ he'd replied, completely awestruck by the fireflies' glow.

His brother smiled.  _ They usually don't come out this far into the desert, either. They follow the rain, did you know that? They're sorta like locusts, only show up once every few years. But they're nicer. Hey, check this out. _

His brother had cupped his hands in the air and beckoned him over.  _ Look at him, Shiro. He'll let you hold him if you're careful.  _

The firefly had crawled from his brother's hand to his own. Its legs had tickled in a way he hadn't quite expected or prepared for, and he'd accidentally squashed the poor insect while he flailed around in ocean-boy panic.  _ Oh my God, is it dead? _

_ Maybe . . . ? _

They'd set the dead firefly on the ground and waited to see if it would move again. While its legs were crumpled in the tell-tale mark of death, it didn't stop glowing for about an hour. In that hour, though, another firefly had floated down to inspect it. 

_ They're glowing together _ , his brother had said.  _ Sometimes, they do that when they're checking each other out. Poor thing, doesn't know she came all this way for nothing.  _

Finally, the other firefly's glow went out, too. 

_ I think that was the saddest thing I've ever seen, _ he'd said, and his brother had nodded. 

_ It's okay, though,  _ his brother had said.  _ Fireflies don't live very long, anyway. My dad told me when I was a kid, fireflies only live long enough to fall in love once. At least these two found each other while there were at least a hundred more out here.  _

_ Yeah, I guess so,  _ he'd said. He knew nothing about fireflies, and in those days, he felt like didn't know much about love, either. It was about a month before his final launch, and his partner had just broken things off with him. He thought they'd be together for the short forever his countdown would give them, but apparently, that wasn't the case. He thought he'd loved his partner in all the ways he deserved, to the point where they were promised to each other, but that wasn't the case, either. 

He thought his brother would still be here when he returned. 

He thought he could try to rebuild his life from the fragments of memory that space had granted him.

He thought he would die a few months from now.

Now, none of that was true.

His brother was gone.

His past life was gone.

All he could think about was his brother's suicide. 

_ In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars will be laughing when you look at the sky at night. And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. _

But there was not time enough for this sorrow. In a few days, his captors would return, and he and his partner would both lose their lives in a feeble attempt at defending their home. They would both go out flying, shot down within seconds of each other. Then his captors would find what they were looking for, the same thing that he'd warned the uniforms about, and then they would leave the planet to ruin. There would be no defender this time, no magical being that would come to save them all.

But Takashi Shirogane knew none of this now.

"Keith, did you know that fireflies can keep glowing even after they're dead? Imagine . . ."

**Author's Note:**

> This work in no way is meant to glorify suicide or depression or grief and loss. There's just been a lot going on lately in my life that I needed to put out in words, and somehow this is the thing that was born from it. If there's anyone out there that wants to talk, don't hesitate to reach out.


End file.
